


baby, i'd settle the sun for you

by scarletite



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, just two gal pals trying to make it in suburbia, retired criminal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletite/pseuds/scarletite
Summary: When Carmilla Karnstein agreed to walk out of her old life and follow her wife into a mundane, suburban life, she'd had her reservations. But she'd done it, no take-backs. She'd do anything for Laura. But she'd rather have her fingernails pulled out by the Russian mafia again than sit through another hour of Kevin talking about his new golf set.





	baby, i'd settle the sun for you

“—took them out to the range yesterday, and let me tell you, it’s the damnedest thing. I’ve always been a shit player, but these things are like magic.”

“That’s great, Kevin,” Laura replied brightly, all sunshine and smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the club in no time. Maybe I should get my dad a pair, he’s been trying to improve his game for years now.”

Kevin brightened, beer slopping dangerously in his bottle as he nodded. “If your old man’s interested, I can hook him up, I’ve got a friend who—”

Carmilla took another deep pull from her glass, trying to resist the urge to smash it and bury the shards in her own eye—she was bored, annoyed and, goddamn it, suburbia was the worst. She didn’t understand how Laura did it. If she had to listen to their obnoxious neighbor talk about golf clubs for another half-hour, she was going to kill something.

Her eyes drifted around the room, taking in the rest of the sights of what she’d dubbed ‘the party from hell’. There was a stampede of kids zooming in and out of the room, party hats on their heads, youthful expressions bright. And, clustered in corners and laughing on couches, their parents were chatting or playing god-awful party games (she glared, pointedly, at Mr. Fredricks, who was trying to sucker their neighbor, Rachel, into a game of musical chairs).

She loved Laura, really, she did. To the ends of the earth and back. Carmilla had killed her mother, her brother, her sister, for Laura; burned her home, her heart, her weird not-quite family, just to keep her love alive. And she'd done it gladly, so that they could live another day, without the threat of her mother's games at their back. Carmilla had committed to the idea of a 'normal' life, at the time, but she hadn't known what to expect. She’d never lived a normal life. She’d been brought up in board rooms, back rooms and battlefields—she’d been born into the life of a criminal, to the world's nastiest, dirtiest piece of work, that was her normal.

Carmilla’s fingers curled tight around the flute stem, wishing it was a gun—god, she’d rather take her chances getting her fingernails pulled out by the Russian mafia again than have to sit through another of these droll parties.

“Watch it,” she shouldered roughly through a crowd of women. She glared balefully at one of them (the one who had loudly insisted that she and Laura were just friends for months, despite seeing them kiss multiple times _—“they must be really good friends, Sydney!”_ ), shutting up her complaint before she could make it.

“I’ll be sure to let my dad know that—” Laura broke off, catching Carmilla’s intense face and rapid approach, “oh, excuse me, Kevin. I think my wife needs a word.”

Kevin glanced over, taking in the fierce expression on Carmilla’s face—the pissed off look that had seen the end of too many lives over the years—and wisely decided to step away. “Of course, of course,” he waved a hand, paling slightly, “I’ll just…go check in with the boys, excuse me. Have a nice night, Laura.”

“You too,” Laura smiled, bright and entirely too sweet, watching him retreat. Then, her eyes slid to Carmilla, to the white-knuckled grip she had on her champagne flute. “You’re tense.”

“I hate this place.”

“They’re nice, Carm,” Laura replied, taking a sip from her own flute. “Just give them a chance, maybe tone down the murder eyes.”

Carmilla scoffed, eyes darting around the room—if there was one thing she knew about suburbia, it’s that it was always listening, housewives rarely had anything to do but gossip. “I wish I was murdering something,” she hissed, leaning over to snatch Laura’s drink from her hand, drinking deeply from it. “I hear it’s an effective way to relieve stress.”

Laura took the empty glass back, shaking her head, admiring the smear of ruby-red lipstick around the rim. “You need to relax, it’s just a party with our very nice, very normal neighbors, Carm.”

“This,” she hissed, “is not normal. Look at these people!”

Laura, sweet, kind, raised-in-a-normal-household Laura, just shook her head at her. “I know it isn’t your area of expertise, Carm, but you need to relax. We’re safe, we’re free, there’s nobody with guns chasing us. The biggest threat here is that Richard has a little too much to drink and decides to chase after Samantha again.”

Carmilla let out a short, huffing breath. “I’d rather take the guns.”

“I know, baby,” Laura said, tone soft but expression firm, “but we left that life behind for a reason. This…is us now.”

“It doesn’t feel like us.”

“Maybe not,” Laura shook her head, taking Carmilla’s flute and setting it on the dining table with her own. She leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her wife’s lips. “But give it time, please. I just…I want us, without all the guns and the violence and the crazy, evil mother trope. I just want us, simple, uncomplicated, _us_.”

Carmilla’s face softened slightly, the way it only did with Laura—all the things she’d done, all the things she’d ruined over the years, she’d thought her heart hardened and herself incapable of love, but Laura proved her wrong with every day they spent together. Laura had changed her so much, but...they'd never been simple, uncomplicated. From the moment they'd met, that Laura had caught her with a sniper rifle in her hand and a very prominent Governor in her sights, things had been complicated. They'd never had the chance to explore each other, to see what it meant to be away from all the fighting and the crazy.

This was an adventure, all its own.

“It’s not going to go away in a day, or a week, sweetheart,” she sighed, swooping to press a firmer, lingering kiss to her lips. Her eyes cast around for a moment, aware of all the gossipy eyes watching them, of the wide-eyed looks on her back, prickling like real things; she felt more exposed here than ever. “I’ve been a killer all of my life. That’s my normal. Not…this. I don’t know how to be the perfect little suburban housewife, that’s not me.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Laura smiled at her, the same look she’d given Carmilla that final day, the time Laura had stood caught in Carmilla’s mother’s hold, gun to her temple and an ultimatum in her hands ( _“it’s the girl, or everything, darling.”_ )—chocolate brown eyes, warm, loving, believing, trusting. “You’re too broody and badass to be a housewife.”

Carmilla laughed softly, a flash of teeth. “You’re right. Hate to break it to you, but I think you're _my_  housewife, cupcake.”

“And I’m damn proud of it,” Laura brightened, taking her hand and twining their fingers together; their wedding rings lined up, golden bands, modest-sized diamonds (shards of the world’s largest diamond, stolen from her mother’s safe; they’d sold the rest anonymously, used it to fun their new life, their freedom). “I’d be your housewife any day.”

“Well, as nice as this whole soiree is,” Carmilla’s eyes cast around the room once again, face pinched, tense; she itched to be out of the spotlight, away from all these people she barely knew, or that she disliked. “I’d like to take my housewife home. To bed.”

Laura’s eyebrow quirked, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Now that’s a party I’m interested in attending.”

“Better book your RSVP, honey,” Carmilla leaned close, pulling Laura flush to her. “I hear it’s got to be seen to be believed.”

Of all the sights she’d seen—Paris at night, New York from the top of the tallest building, sunrise on the Appalachian trails—Laura’s blush was her absolute favorite.

Laura’s arm folded into her own, linked at the elbows. “Come on then, party girl. Take me home.”

“Now that,” Carmilla grinned, putting a deliberate sway in her step, leading Laura to the door, “is the best idea I’ve heard all night.”

But, because Carmilla's life has never been easy and has never been simple, of course a certain  _someone_ has to open their mouth. 

“I think it’s admirable that two friends can openly express their affections like that,” Kathy declared to the rest of the PTA Mombies, lip curled in a way that suggested that she was anything but admiring, “honestly, though, I do wonder about what sort of impression that’s going to leave…”

(Carmilla really, really hates suburbia.)

Laura’s arm tightened its hold around Carmilla’s. “Carm, no—”

(You can take a girl from the fight, but you can’t take a fight from the girl.)

“Oh, fuck you Kathy,” Carmilla hissed, flipping the bird. Her arm seized Laura possessively, pressing a not-at-all chaste kiss to her lips, and brazenly squeezing her ass. “I’m going home to fuck my lovely, hot,  _wife_.”

The room descended into silence, mothers scrambling to cover their staring children's eyes and husbands trying to not-so-obviously stare at the wild lesbian show taking place in front of them. 

Carmilla pointedly brought another hand up, groping Laura's boob, then letting her go.

Kevin choked, fumbling to catch their beer.

Laura groaned, loudly, pressing a palm to her face.

“Later,” Carmilla called, dragging her wife through the room, towards the exit—then, as an afterthought, glanced backwards. “Also, this party sucks. And, I hate you all.”

“Carm!” Laura hissed as she was pulled through the door, her voice carrying back through the open door. “Sorry!”

“No, she’s not!”

**Author's Note:**

> From this AU prompt on tumblr: “You want to try and live a normal life, so we moved to the suburbia. I’m a really good actor when I need to, but I’m completely hopeless in all neighborhood social functions. I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out by the russian mafia again than spend another hour talking about Kevin’s new golf set."


End file.
